No Rest for the Wicked
by Insomniac-Angel
Summary: Blaine doesn't understand why he likes it, or why he wants it.  He knows it's wrong, and he knows what it could cost him...but he can't seem to stop.  Fill for Glee Kink Meme: noncon, somnophilia, NotNice!Blaine.
1. Chapter 1

Hello,

So, like much of the world, Glee has pretty much eaten my brain. Particularly the gorgeousness that is Klaine :) And in my trolling of the Glee fandom, I happened upon the Glee Kink Meme, which pretty much ate the rest of my brain. This story is a fill for the following prompt on the kink meme (paraphrased):

_Kurt/Blaine, noncon somnophilia, not-so-dapper!Blaine_

_So, for the most part, Kurt and Blaine have a great sex life. The only thing is, Blaine has this kink...he loves the idea of having sex with Kurt while Kurt is totally out of it. Kurt is completely not into this, but sometimes Blaine just can't help himself. So he creates situations in which he can have his way with Kurt while Kurt is out cold. He knows it's wrong, and Kurt would flip his shit if he found out, but sometimes he really, really wants it. _

Basically, here be noncon, somnophilia, and Blaine being a not-so-nice guy. I played with the parameters of the prompt a bit, so that's not word for word what's going to happen...but yeah, you've been warned.

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the rightful owners of any recognizable characters and situations herein, and respectfully request that no one sue me, as no money is being made.

Still with me? Enjoy!

* * *

><p>The first time is an accident. A complete and utter accident.<p>

They are lying in bed, Kurt's head tucked under his chin, one arm thrown over his waist. Kurt's been asleep for a couple hours now, but he's still too wired, too excited. He's carding one hand through Kurt's soft hair over and over, a liberty Kurt hardly ever allows him when he's awake, and just staring at the ceiling, a grin he just knows is dopey and ridiculous stretching his face.

The apartment is tiny. He's pretty sure Kurt has rewritten a few laws of physics to get all their furniture into it. They're on the sixth floor in a building with no elevator, he can already tell it's going to be uncomfortably warm in the summer and chilly in the winter. There are only two windows is the whole place—one above the sink in the kitchen, and one in their bedroom—with the only view out of both of them being the brick wall of the adjoining building. The rent is ridiculous, and he has to get on three separate subway trains to get to work every day.

It is absolutely _perfect_.

They've spent the day unpacking boxes, putting things away, stopping every now and then to just stand back and bask in the sight of their possessions mixed together in closets and on shelves, the realization that everything contained in these four walls is no longer Kurt and Blaine's, but _theirs_. It's heady and more exciting than anything they've ever experienced. They've made it. They're living together in New York, building a life together in New York, and he thinks his heart might burst from happiness.

Kurt sighs softly in his sleep, tightening his arm on Blaine's waist and nuzzling against his collar bone. It's their first night in _their_ bed, in _their_ home, and Blaine is a little drunk in a way that has just as much to do with the sheer joy of it all as it does with the beers he'd consumed with dinner.

He's loose and happy and Kurt is right there, warm and flushed and completely irresistible, and Blaine suddenly gets an idea. Wicked and naughty, a little bit kinky (and he pointedly ignores the little voice in his head that sounds disturbingly like Santana Lopez that's scoffing at his definition of 'kinky'). He licks his lips as he gently rolls his boyfriend off of him and back onto his side of the bed. Kurt stirs slightly, but quickly settles again, nestling into the pillows.

Blaine kicks the sheets down to the foot of the bed, and props himself up on one elbow for a moment, just drinking in the sight of Kurt's body. He so rarely gets to just _look_. Kurt's not nearly as self-conscious as he was in high school, anymore, but he still dresses himself in layers upon layers of stylish clothes, still squirms uncomfortably and starts crossing his arms over his chest if Blaine spends more than a few moments staring.

Blaine doesn't understand it, really. In the throes of passion, his boyfriend is as wild and fierce and unrestrained as he is in every other aspect of his life. Once their relationship had gotten truly physical in senior year, it had been like opening a floodgate. Kurt will happily spend hours kissing, licking, sucking, and caressing every part of Blaine's body, will unashamedly spend hours letting Blaine do the same to him. He accepts the compliments Blaine showers on him with a low, approving hum and a gorgeous flush of color in his cheeks. The moment there is hang time, though…the moment Blaine leaves off action and tries to just admire…

Well, he can admire all he wants to right now.

Kurt is beautiful. Blaine has always been perfectly aware of this, even back when he was deluding himself into thinking he and Kurt would only ever be friends. All long, lithe limbs and deceptively delicate features. Blaine could, and has, spend an entire evening just mapping the planes and dips of Kurt's lightly muscled body with his hands. Lean strength covered in smooth, moon-pale skin that's as soft as satin beneath his calloused fingertips.

He leans over and presses his lips against the pulsepoint just below Kurt's jaw. It's barely a kiss, hardly any pressure, but Kurt sighs softly. His head tilts automatically to bare the long column of his neck, though his eyes don't even flutter. Blaine grins, takes the unconscious invitation to trail his lips down to the hollow of Kurt's throat, his tongue darting out to taste the sleep-warm salt of that beautiful skin. Soft touches, soft licks, barely enough to register, and Kurt's breathing is still deep and even.

He hitches himself up to hover over his boyfriend, weight supported on one arm as he reaches down with his other hand to stroke the silky, nearly hairless skin of Kurt's stomach just below his navel. His thumb follows the slide of one perfectly defined hipbone, rubbing a gentle circle where Kurt's navy-blue boxers—a pair of Blaine's, actually, if he's not mistaken—have ridden indecently low. And _now_ Kurt's breath hitches a little, a tiny, breathy moan escaping him. Blaine lowers his head slightly, darts his tongue out to lap delicately at one rosy-pink nipple. He glances up in time to see Kurt's lips part, his breath stuttering again.

Blaine grins again and slowly, gently eases Kurt's boxers down further. They're definitely Blaine's, much too loose around Kurt's waist, and it's easy to ruck them down around the tops of Kurt's thighs to reveal his half-hard cock. The tip is already glistening with pre-come, and Blaine lets one thumb circle it gently, smearing the fluid around the head.

Normally, Kurt would be writhing beneath him now, a beautiful symphony of absolutely sinful noises falling from his lips. His hands would be clenching in the bedspread, or maybe buried in Blaine's hair, trying to guide him lower. His hips would be bucking upwards, straining for more. His legs would tangle with Blaine's, trying to urge him closer.

Kurt's always been a heavy sleeper, though, and he's done just as many laps up and down the stairs carrying heavy boxes as Blaine has today. Add to that the couple glasses of wine he'd downed with dinner and he doesn't stir, even as his breathing speeds up and his hips twitch fractionally under Blaine's palm. Blaine pushes his boyfriend's legs further apart, and there's something about the way Kurt's limbs just fall under his direction, something about the sleep-heavy pliancy of Kurt's body, that gives him pause. He keeps working his thumb around the head of Kurt's cock, sticky-slickness gradually spreading over his fingers.

"Kurt?" he whispers in the darkness, pressing a little harder, letting his whole hand settle around the rapidly hardening flesh. "Baby?"

There's a tiny furrow between Kurt's perfectly shaped brows now, and his head is shifting slightly back and forth on the pillows. There's another soft little moan, and one of Kurt's hands lifts off the mattress briefly, as if reaching for something, before falling back down. He's still asleep, still not consciously aware of what Blaine's doing.

The warm, lazy glow of arousal he's been feeling since he started this suddenly sharpens, curling hard and hot and low in his belly and he doesn't know why. An insistent throbbing has started between his own legs, though, and he's suddenly unbearably curious to see how far he can get before Kurt wakes up. He leans away from Kurt's prone form for a moment, quickly divesting himself of his own underwear, then fumbles at the drawer of the nightstand on his side of the bed.

The little bottle is exactly where he'd put it earlier, Kurt laughingly teasing him about priorities since Blaine hadn't even unpacked any of his clothes yet. He squeezes a generous dollop of lube into his palm and rubbing his hands together swiftly to take the chill off.

Kurt shifts slightly as he does so, curling onto his side, his legs sliding together restlessly. Blaine feels his lips twist into a smirk this time, as he quietly sidles in behind Kurt. He wraps one arm around Kurt's slender waist and tugs him back flush against his chest, another hot spike of sheer lust flashing through him as Kurt's body slumps limply against him. He kisses the back of Kurt's neck as his hand snakes down, gripping his boyfriend's firmly erect cock in one hand. Slowly, he begins to stroke, working his hand up and down, following the rigid path of a vein with his thumb in the way that drives Kurt absolutely crazy.

Kurt moans again, louder this time, and his hips start bucking helplessly into Blaine's grip. Kurt's movements are slow and uncoordinated, though, and Blaine bites back his own lusty groan at the realization that he is _completely_ in control of this. He cants his own hips, grazing the cleft of Kurt's magnificent ass with his hard-on, and _damn_, he thinks he could come just from this.

He picks up the pace, relishing the feel of Kurt squirming and shivering against him, the soft, broken sounds that are coming from him now. He thinks he feels a shift in Kurt's movements, awareness trickling back into the body in his arms and he redoubles his efforts, twists his wrist just so. He's not sure why, but he's abruptly sure that bringing Kurt off before he wakes up is going to be the hottest thing ever.

Kurt gasps softly, a few half-formed syllables falling from his lips. Blaine can't control the thrust of his own hips now, rubbing himself shamelessly against Kurt's ass and the small of his back. His hand works faster over Kurt, flicking his thumb over the head of Kurt's cock, and he can feel that they're both getting close to the edge.

"Bl—Blaine, whuh?" Kurt's voice is thick with sleep, rough with arousal and so confused, and then suddenly Kurt is stiffening in his arms, his question trailing off into the high, keening cry that Blaine knows so well. Warmth spurts over Blaine's hand, smearing messily over the sheets beneath them, and **God**! Blaine bites down on Kurt's pale, smooth shoulder as his own orgasm crashes over him, thrusting wildly against Kurt's back.

They lie still for a few moments, panting through the aftermath, and Blaine buries his face against Kurt's shoulder, pressing kiss after kiss against the already-darkening area where he bit down. Kurt is shuddering and gasping in his arms, and Blaine knows he should get up, should go get something to clean them up with, but he's pretty sure he couldn't move if his life depended on it, and how on Earth had he come so hard just giving Kurt a handjob, for pity's sake?

Eventually, Kurt seems to come back to himself totally. He turns in Blaine's arms, reaching up to push a clump of sweat-dampened curls off of Blaine's forehead. Blaine bites his lip for a moment, certain he's about to get a tongue-lashing (and not the good kind) of epic proportions, but Kurt looks more confused than anything.

"Not that I'm complaining, but what was that about?" he asks softly, curling in closer to Blaine's body, close enough that their foreheads touch, their breath mingles.

And the truth is, Blaine doesn't know. He'd thought he'd just have a little fun, maybe be a little naughty and wake him up with a blowjob. That's…that's not where he ended up, though. He chuckles softly, and hopes Kurt doesn't notice that it's a little forced.

"I dunno…you just looked so gorgeous lying there. It's our first night in our own apartment. Seemed a shame to waste it sleeping."

Kurt's face clears, and he smiles softly before leaning in and kissing Blaine sweetly. "I can definitely see the logic of your reasoning. But you couldn't wake me up for all the fun?" Kurt yawns, tucking himself back against Blaine's side.

And Blaine thinks back to the feeling of Kurt's body under his hands, slack and pliant, the ragdoll limpness of him as Blaine touched and tasted and stroked. Another sharp, hot thrill runs through him, pulsing from head to toe and he sucks in a breath.

No, apparently he couldn't.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time is still pretty much an accident. Mostly an accident.

New York is wonderful and amazing, and living there is everything they ever dreamed it might be. _Making_ it in New York, however, is at least twice as demanding and frustrating as they were expecting.

They both work themselves nearly to the bone, Kurt at a high-end clothing boutique in Manhattan, and Blaine as a glorified coffee boy at a prestigious law firm he hopes to intern at when he starts at NYU's law school next semester. They'd both attained their undergraduate degrees (Kurt's in drama from Tisch, and Blaine's in pre-law, obviously) the previous year, just before they'd moved in together.

They don't have to work as hard as they do, really. Whatever tensions exist between Blaine and his parents—and though they really do try, and do genuinely seem to like Kurt, Blaine doesn't really think they'll ever stop hoping that he'll wake up someday and realize he's really straight—they have never hesitated to provide for him. His father is paying Blaine's way all the way through law school, so that Blaine can graduate without having incurred massive student loan debt. On top of that, his paternal grandparents left him a generous trust fund that he gained access to when he turned twenty-one.

They want to support themselves now, though, and save the trust for when (not _if_, Blaine is quite certain of that) Kurt starts getting more auditions and callbacks, and has to cut back on his work hours. That had actually been one of their only really serious fights…Kurt absolutely hating the thought of Blaine supporting them both, and Blaine trying to make his stubborn, stubborn boyfriend see that helping Kurt achieve his dreams is an investment in _both_ their futures. In the end they compromised, agreeing that they would give it two years. If Kurt hadn't "made it" by then, they would look at where Blaine's own career was and re-evaluate.

Blaine knows it won't come to that, though. Kurt tries to stay realistic, reminding Blaine over and over that his voice is unusual in this day and age, and hard to cast. Blaine, personally, can't imagine how anyone could hear the ethereal tones Kurt is capable of, and _not_ want to use him in a production. But whatever, they agreed to give it a couple of years. Blaine just seriously doubts it'll take that long.

So, when Kurt comes home one night a couple months after they first moved into their apartment, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling, and a dazed smile on his face, Blaine just arches an eyebrow. Kurt's been at an audition for a part in an off-Broadway production of _Joseph____and____the____Amazing____Technicolor____Dreamcoat_ (and Blaine had teased his staunchly atheist boyfriend about auditioning for a show based on a Bible story, only to be told firmly to "shut up, Blaine Warbler, it's Andrew Lloyd-Webber!") for most of the evening. It's only a casting call for chorus members, but the theater running it is well-respected and considered a gateway to bigger and better productions.

"That went longer than expected…did you get in?" Blaine already knows the answer, of course. Kurt's expression gave it away the moment he walked through the door. He's already running through a mental list of restaurants he can take Kurt out to and celebrate. To his surprise, though, Kurt shakes his head. Blaine frowns, opens his mouth to ask what, then, Kurt is so happy about, but Kurt beats him to the punch.

"They cast me. Blaine, they cast me as the Narrator!" Kurt's grin threatens to split his face as he hugs himself tightly around his middle, practically vibrating with excitement. Blaine freezes a moment, jaw dropping slightly. Kurt licks his lips and shakes his head a bit, one elegant hand flying up to make a vague gesture in the air. "I mean, I know it's just stunt casting…having a guy sing that part in the female register is going to catch some attention, get the show some free publicity, but…" Kurt visibly tries to rein in his excitement, and that just won't do.

"Kurt," Blaine interrupts, striding over to take his boyfriend's face in his hands. "Don't do that, don't you dare downplay this. Baby, this is _huge_!" And it is. It's not Broadway, it's not a major theatrical production—but it is Kurt walking into a cattle call for people to sing and sway in the background, and walking out with a lead role. It is someone hearing his voice and instantly recognizing that Kurt Hummel does _not_ belong in the background.

Abruptly, they are both laughing wildly. Blaine lets out an excited whoop as he seizes Kurt around the waist, lifting him off his feet and twirling them both in a mad circle. They're more of a height now, thanks to Blaine's late growth spurt right before they left for college, but Kurt is still enough taller than him that it's slightly awkward. Blaine doesn't care, though. He swings them around and around until they collapse on their sofa in a tangle of limbs. Blaine kisses Kurt soundly, over and over, before pressing their foreheads together.

"I'm so happy for you," he whispers. "And so, so proud of you. You're going to be incredible, Kurt. Just incredible." He pulls back, grabbing Kurt's hands and tugging him back off the couch. "We should go out and celebrate! Or wait, do you want to call your dad and Carole? And Rachel…we should call Rachel; I'll bet she'll want to come with us. And—"

"Blaine!" Kurt is laughing helplessly as he reaches over and smacks Blaine lightly on the shoulder. "Slow down. I already called Dad on the way home. And Rachel knew I was auditioning today, so I had, like sixty missed calls by the time I got out." Kurt smiles ruefully. "She may or may not have already informed our entire circle of friends, and we may or may not be expected at _Evolve_ by ten o' clock." Kurt shrugs, a little apologetically, but it's been a few weeks since they went out with Rachel, and _Evolve_ is their favorite stop in New York's gay club scene.

"Sounds perfect," Blaine answers.

And so, Blaine finds himself relaxing at a table at their favorite New York hotspot, animatedly arguing the finer points of the Giants' defensive line with Rachel Berry's new boyfriend (a rather nice personal chef by the name of Max, who he and Kurt both like and both expect to be kicked to the curb within another month, tops.) while Kurt, Rachel, and a small group of their theater friends are enjoying themselves on the dance floor.

Blaine likes this club. It's fast-paced and fun, but the music isn't so loud it deafens you for three days straight, the lights are flashy and entertaining without running the risk of inducing seizures, and the bar has a food menu that's upscale without being pretentious. Blaine thinks he could cheerfully live on their Asian chili-spiced shrimp skewers.

And the alcohol is top-notch.

"Blaine! Why aren't you dancing with meeeee?"

Really, really top notch, Blaine reflects wryly, as he suddenly finds himself with a lapful of Kurt. Blaine smiles fondly as Kurt doesn't wait for an answer, instead snatching his drink up from where he'd abandoned it on the table and downing the remaining contents with a speed that sober Kurt would have found uncouth. He should probably cut his boyfriend off, soon. If he's so far gone he doesn't remember that Blaine only sat down about ten minutes ago after a solid hour of doing nothing _but_ dancing with him…

Kurt hadn't been kidding when he said Rachel had called their entire circle of friends. They'd been greeted at the club by a huge knot of people—classmates, friends from both their work, a few couples they'd become friendly with at a local LGBT community center—and nearly all of them seemed to think that the only appropriate way of congratulating Kurt on his success was to buy him a drink. Kurt passed tipsy a while ago, and is fast on his way to just straight-up _drunk_.

They're enjoying themselves, though, and Blaine loves seeing Kurt like this…happy, carefree, and so beautiful it makes Blaine's chest ache a bit. Kurt is incandescent tonight, absolutely glowing with happiness and excitement. His face is flushed with exertion and alcohol, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his skin, dampening his hair. He's wearing some kind of silky white dress shirt that stands out in stark, simple contrast to a pair of sinfully tight black pants and knee-high black boots, both of which are decorated with a complicated series of silver buckles. He laughs suddenly at something Max has said, and Blaine is seized with the desire to pop a few buttons on the front of his shirt, expose the tempting landscape of Kurt's collarbones, his chest. Blaine watches a drop of sweat slide down Kurt's neck, and he desperately wants to follow it with his tongue.

As if reading his mind, Kurt turns in his lap suddenly, slinging his arms around Blaine's neck and nuzzling against the underside of Blaine's jaw. Blaine smirks a little as his boyfriend trails one hand down his chest, stopping to toy suggestively with the buckle on Blaine's belt. It's not like Kurt has a problem with PDA—not here in New York, where two men holding hands or kissing on the street isn't even a little bit remarkable—but when there's alcohol in his system, he's positively handsy.

Blaine gently guides Kurt's hand away from his belt, casting a side-eye at the empty glasses that litter the table and trying to remember how many of them are Kurt's. Blaine's pretty far from sober himself, but his boyfriend is damn near plastered-though honestly, given the fact that Kurt usually limits himself to a glass or two of wine when he does drink (and Blaine has never been able to get the full story behind why Kurt dislikes drinking to excess…Blaine knows there's something more to it than what happened at Rachel's disastrous party back in high school), it's not like he has much of a tolerance. Kurt pouts adorably when Blaine laces their fingers together, then immediately leans in and begins nuzzling the side of Blaine's throat, suckling at the skin and nipping with just the right amount of force.

Blaine groans a little and rests his hand on the back of Kurt's neck, ruffling the sweat-damp hair at his nape. Max is watching them with an amused expression, his bright green eyes dancing with mirth. The man winks saucily at him before sliding out of his chair, presumably to go find Rachel. Blaine reluctantly pushes Kurt off of his neck, leaning in to kiss those tempting lips when Kurt whines a little at the loss of contact.

"I think we better get you home, babe," he mutters, and yeah it takes a little effort to string the words together coherently through the haze of lust and alcohol, but he's not slurring yet. He figures he's sober enough to pour Kurt into a cab and get them both up the stairs to their place safely. Fortunately, Kurt seems to agree with him, as he immediately scrambles up and out of Blaine's lap. He stumbles a little as he stands, and Blaine nearly falls himself when he reaches out a hand to steady him.

Yes, he's definitely not braving the subway like this.

He hooks an arm around Kurt's waist and begins leading them toward the exit, waving casually at their friends as they pass and ignoring the good-natured teasing and catcalls that follow them. They skirt the edge of the dance floor, pausing long enough in the crowd to snatch Rachel out of Max's arms so they can say goodbye properly. Blaine presses a kiss to her cheek and steps back as Rachel and Kurt wrap themselves around each other, hugging tightly and whispering in each other's ears for a few moments. Judging by the way they are both swaying, Blaine seriously doubts either of them will remember what they're saying come morning.

Eventually, the two let go of each other and Blaine pulls Kurt back to his side, heading for the exit again. The cool night air helps him sober up slightly, which turns out to be a good thing as it does no such thing for Kurt. He does indeed end up nearly pouring his boyfriend into a cab, barely managing to call out their address before Kurt is wrapped around him again, clinging like a limpet. Blaine laughs a little, wrapping one arm around Kurt's back.

The ride back to their apartment is torture of the sweetest kind. Kurt is all over him, kissing him with sloppy abandon. Blaine knows he's going to have a hell of a hickey on the side of his throat, probably more than one, and Kurt's hands are roaming everywhere he will let them. The cab driver tosses him an amused wink in the rear view mirror when Kurt's long, graceful fingers start unbuttoning his shirt, tangling in his chest hair and slipping down to tweak at a nipple. Blaine bites back a groan and reluctantly forces his boyfriend's hands into less R-rated actions. The driver is shooting him the same congratulatory smirk Puckerman used to back in high school when they would enter the choir room with swollen lips and disheveled hair (well, his had been disheveled), and Blaine has no desire to give the guy a free show.

Kurt giggles drunkenly, presses himself closer. He hooks one long leg over Blaine's lap and rubs his knee against Blaine's rapidly growing erection. Kurt licks his lips suggestively, leaving them spit-shiny and slick and _God_, Blaine can't wait to have them wrapped around his length. He can practically feel his blood buzzing in his veins, drunk enough that everything is bright and somehow _more_. He swears he can feel little sparks popping everywhere Kurt is touching him, arousal mixing with the alcohol and leaving him slightly dizzy with desire. He lets one hand wander down the line of Kurt's back, slipping it into one of Kurt's back pockets and squeezing. Kurt hums contentedly, shuddering as Blaine flexes his fingers, kneading and massaging the firm flesh of Kurt's gorgeous ass.

By the time they pull up to their building, Blaine's jeans are so restrictive it's almost painful. He hauls Kurt out of the cab and has to actually prop him up against the side of the car while he fumbles his wallet out of his pocket to pay their (_entirely_ too amused) driver. Kurt's movements are getting increasingly slow and uncoordinated as Blaine slings his boyfriend's arm over his shoulder and starts them staggering towards the door.

Halfway up the—honestly, he loves their apartment, but he can't wait 'til they can afford to move somewhere with an elevator—third flight of stairs, he's supporting almost all of Kurt's weight, and he bites back a moan for an entirely different reason than in the cab. Kurt doesn't get this drunk all that often, but Blaine recognizes the signs…his boyfriend's just about gone, and Blaine is going to be lucky to get him all the way up to their apartment before Kurt passes out.

He hauls Kurt up the final stairs, resigning himself to a night of frustration and only his own hand for company as he manages to unlock the door and stumble into their apartment. Kurt mumbles something incoherent and starts to slide from Blaine's grip.

"No, no, no c'mon, Kurt…bed's just a little further," Blaine says, tightening his arms around Kurt's waist. Kurt may be tall and slender, but his body is pretty solidly muscled. Blaine would really rather avoid having to carry his boyfriend's deadweight. "Man…I thought we talked about this, baby; vodka is not your friend." Kurt makes another sound that might be agreement, his head lolling against Blaine's neck.

They make it to the bedroom without incident, and Blaine dumps Kurt as gently as possible onto the bed. Kurt lets out a little grunt as he hits the mattress, blinking hazily up at Blaine for a moment. Blaine can't help a tender smile as he reaches down and brushes Kurt's hair off his forehead. "You're going to be hating life tomorrow," he informs his nearly insensible lover. Sighing, he strips down to his boxers and undershirt before kneeling down to start working at the intricate laces and buckles of Kurt's boots.

Blaine's still not anywhere near sober himself, and his hands are clumsier than usual. Still, he makes short work of the boots and pants, tossing them carelessly over his shoulder. He'll just let Kurt rail at him for treating designer pieces so callously in the morning. The buttons on Kurt's shirt prove more difficult, and Blaine debates whether or not it's worth it to try and wake Kurt up enough to drink some water while he fumbles with them. He has the shirt worked about halfway open when Kurt lets out a high, breathy sigh, unconsciously writhing under Blaine's touch on his chest.

Blaine freezes, his hands stilling, and his eyes fly to Kurt's face. His boyfriend is slumped against the pillows at the head of the bed, features slack and peaceful, lips slightly parted. Blaine swallows roughly and slowly, hesitantly, rubs his hands over Kurt's chest again. Kurt shifts again, pushing into Blaine's touch. He whispers Blaine's name, voice slurring and heavy.

The pulse of lust is absolutely electric, shooting straight to his cock. Blaine gasps out loud, his half-wilted erection springing back to full attention almost instantly. Heart pounding, he crawls fully up on the bed to straddle Kurt's thighs. He runs his hands slowly, almost reverently, up and down Kurt's arms, loving the contrast of hard muscle under that silky, silky skin. He lowers his head, pushing his nose into the crook of Kurt's neck and just inhales the scent of him. His whole awareness narrows to the clean sweat, the warm bite of alcohol, the citrusy tang of Kurt's cologne, and it's heavenly. He mouths at the juncture where Kurt's shoulder meets his neck and skims his hand down the center of his chest, over his breastbone, down to splay his palm his belly.

Kurt sighs again, a wordless murmur escaping him, but he lays quiescent under Blaine's touch. Blaine bites his lip as he pushes himself up to kneel above Kurt, sliding his arms under Kurt's shoulders and gently drawing him further up against the pillows. Kurt falls limply where Blaine directs, his limbs slipping boneless over the navy blue comforter and Blaine groans low in his throat. He pulls Kurt's underwear off, tossing it back over his shoulder to land on the floor with their other clothes. The moonlight spills into their room this time of night, lending Kurt's naked body a damn near ethereal glow. He's so hard, the ache between his legs demanding attention.

He knows, he _knows_ that he just roll over and take care of it himself, get up and get a glass of water and the bottle of aspirin to leave on Kurt's night table. He's tried very hard not to think too deeply about the night they first moved into their apartment, the way it made him feel. This isn't like that night anyway…the number of drinks Kurt has had tonight, he's down for the count. He's not going to be waking up to enjoy anything Blaine does. He doesn't know why the sight of Kurt like this is, the feel of his slackened body, the soft, barely-there noises he makes, affect him so strongly…but God it turns him on so much.

He can't help himself, he really can't. He drapes himself over Kurt with a low whine of pure want. He cages Kurt in lightly with his arms, drawing his boyfriend in tight against him, pressing his face into Kurt's neck. He doesn't think he's going to last long enough to prep Kurt enough to make love to him.

He ignores the little voice inside of him screaming that fucking his boyfriend while he's unconscious wouldn't be _making__love_ anyway.

He also ignores the little thrill the wrongness of this gives him, the edge it puts on his arousal. He runs one hand through Kurt's hair, kisses his neck as he thrusts down between Kurt's thighs, sliding his cock against Kurt's. His boyfriend is completely flaccid, not even a little bit into this, not even _aware_ of it and Blaine's hips piston forward again at the thought. He ruts against Kurt, the crease of his thigh, the coarse, neatly trimmed hair of his groin. He feels the familiar rush of heat in his belly, pulls back from Kurt to kneel up on the bed. He fists his own cock roughly, sliding his hand up and down the length of it as he stares down at Kurt—the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the fan of his eyelashes against the top of his cheekbone. Spread out where Blaine put him, not moving, not responding, not reacting.

He comes so hard his vision whites out, thick spurts of white splattering on Kurt's pale skin, painting his stomach, his groin, the tops of his thighs. Blaine keeps pumping himself through his orgasm, shuddering and shivering above Kurt, biting back his cries so hard he thinks he might actually draw blood. He collapses next to Kurt when it's over, angling his body to fall alongside of his boyfriend, panting as though he's just run a marathon. He just stares at Kurt a moment—the beautiful planes of his face, flushed from the alcohol he's consumed, the silken glow of his skin in the moonlight.

The streaks of Blaine's come dripping down his belly, like a brand marking this gorgeous creature as his.

He throws one arm over Kurt's chest, drawing him close and pressing a soft kiss against his temple. He'll get up in a moment, get something to clean Kurt and himself up with. For now, he wants to just lie here and listen to Kurt's breathing, the adorable little snuffles and snores that only ever make an appearance when Kurt's been drinking. He wants to lie here and enjoy the closeness.

And firmly promise himself that he's not going to do this again.


	3. Chapter 3

Hello,

Many thanks for the reviews and alerts :) I am glad people are enjoying this. This part is quite a bit longer than the other two...and I haven't even gotten to the porn yet. But, I thought I'd go ahead and post part of what I have written. Please enjoy!

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><p>The third time is a mistake. It's just a mistake…he didn't mean to. He didn't.<p>

He doesn't think about what happened the night Kurt was cast in _Joseph_, any more than he let himself consider what happened the night they moved into the apartment. He doesn't want to examine those feelings, those motivations, doesn't want to look too closely at what he'd done. Instead, he ignores it. He doesn't even consider talking to Kurt about it, too afraid of what his boyfriend's reaction would be.

He doesn't really know what he'd say, in any case.

He tells himself that he was drunk—and it was just an accident. An aberration. He just can't figure out why it happened, why he would _want_ something like that. It's not like there is anything lacking in their sex life. Kurt is a wonderful lover—maybe not the most adventurous partner in the bedroom, but Blaine has never felt unsatisfied. Sure, they've had their rough patches and dry spells…but Blaine has never felt anything other than blessed to have Kurt in his life. He's more in love with Kurt now than ever, knows without a doubt that he wants to spend the rest of his life with him.

Still, he can't deny the thrill that raced through him those two nights. The pleasure that sparked sharper than he's ever felt before, shooting like lightning through his veins. He just knows it can't happen again. Even if he could think of the words to explain this strange desire, he knows Kurt would be angry and disturbed over it. Might even leave him over it.

He can't risk that. He won't.

So he throws himself into his classes and his job. He concentrates on cultivating connections that will get him a good internship, and possibly a job offer when he graduates. He tries to be the perfect, supportive boyfriend when Kurt goes into rehearsals and comes home at night too tired to do anything other than force down a few bites of dinner and go to bed. Eventually, he manages to relegate it to the back of his mind.

It's another two months of rehearsals, costume fittings, and two major casting changes before the production of JosephandtheAmazingTechnicolorDreamcoat opens to a modestly-sized audience.

Blaine is sitting in the front row for Kurt's opening night, along with Rachel, Burt, Carole, and Finn. Mercedes flies in from Atlanta, where she's been working on demos for a possible recording contract with a small label. Blaine chats pleasantly with Burt and Carole, catches up with Mercedes, and spares a few moments to watch the by-play between Finn and Rachel. They are both unattached at the moment, Rachel having broken up with Max only a few weeks after that night at the club. He idly wonders if he and Kurt will be called on to mediate yet another "on" phase of their epic on-again/off-again relationship. He hopes not—he's not entirely sure he'll be able to prevent Kurt from doing something violent this time.

Then the opening notes swell from the orchestra pit, and the curtain rises. Kurt steps out onto the stage in tight-fitting black pants and a sapphire blue dress-shirt, over which is a fitted waistcoat with the same pattern as the "coat of many colors" costume. Blaine can't help but chuckle a little as he realizes that a stage costume for a play with the word "Technicolor" in the title is actually kind of subdued compared to some of the things Kurt has in his own closet. Then a single spotlight illuminates the figure of the love of his life and the rest of the world ceases to exist.

Kurt is _breathtaking_. His voice soars as Blaine is sure it never has before, hitting every note perfectly. He bounds and dances across the stage, taking the relatively simple choreography of the Narrator and twirling it somehow into _more_, and Blaine is sure that's not just the lovestruck boyfriend in him talking. The audience is charmed and captivated by him, and despite very capable performances by the rest of the cast, and the excellent casting of Joseph in a strong tenor with whom Kurt has great on-stage chemistry, it is Kurt who gets the loudest applause and the longest standing ovation during the final curtain call.

Blaine claps until his hands are sore, and doesn't even wince when Finn lets out a piercing whistle in defiance of every bit of theater etiquette since…ever. Looking over at Burt and Carole, he smiles tenderly when he sees Burt pause in his enthusiastic cheering to wipe discreetly at his eyes. The older man brushes a hand over his chest where Blaine knows he wears his first wife's wedding band on a chain underneath his shirt, and glances towards the ceiling with a wistful smile. Blaine knows that there, in that instant, Burt would give anything for Kurt's mother to be able to see their son up where he belongs, finally living the dreams he's had to fight tooth and nail for practically his whole life.

They wait in a cluster by the stage door outside. Blaine hangs back when Kurt finally exits the theater, looking so radiant, so happy. His hair is still damp from a hasty shower, and starting to fly everywhere (Kurt will be howling in outrage as soon as he catches a glimpse of it), and Blaine can see a few streaks of greasepaint still clinging to his neck. He is forgetting himself in his joy, his smile wide and toothy. He has never been more beautiful in Blaine's eyes than in that instant.

He lets the rest of them have their moment with his boyfriend, lets Burt and Carole sweep him into enthusiastic embraces, lets Finn pound his back too hard in congratulations, lets Mercedes and Rachel practically fall over each other to be the next to hug him. He lets them all chatter excitedly while Kurt beams. After a few moments, though, Kurt's eyes meet his over Rachel's head and it is his turn. He steps forward, pulling a single red rose from behind his back and extending it with a flourish. Kurt's incandescent smile turns soft and adoring as he takes the bloom, stepping into Blaine's arms.

"You were amazing. I knew you would be," he whispers against Kurt's neck. He leans back to capture Kurt's lips in a passionate kiss, moving to kiss his cheek and his forehead before leaning back slightly. "I love you. I love you so much, and I'm so proud of you."

"Love you, too," Kurt murmurs back, tightening his arms around Blaine's neck. They stay that way, just holding each other and basking in their happiness, until Burt clears his throat loudly and reminds them that they have dinner reservations. They laugh softly, breaking the embrace. Kurt tucks in close to his side, slinging one arm around Blaine's shoulders and twirling the stem of the rose between his long, elegant fingers as they head out to the front of the theater to catch a couple of cabs to the restaurant.

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><p>The play doesn't get nearly the publicity of a Broadway production…but it does get reviewed in a few theater magazines and blogs. The reviews are generally good, though nothing special, except for one factor…<p>

They absolutely _rave_ about Kurt.

They praise his stage presence and his connection with the audience, calling him the best part of the production. They use words like _haunting_, _otherworldly_, and _transcendent_ to describe his voice. More than one reviewer declares Kurt Hummel a name to watch, and a widely-read blog states plainly that they expect to see Kurt on the Great White Way sooner rather than later.

Kurt pretends that he is simply flattered, that the reviews don't really mean anything to him…but Blaine wakes up one morning to find Kurt's side of the bed already cold, and his lover ensconced at their kitchen table with a pile of the reviews Blaine has carefully been saving. Kurt is just staring at them, breathing deeply.

He feels a lump rise in his throat as Kurt closes his eyes, and Blaine can literally see the last remnants of the boy who was told over and over that he was too unusual, too outlandish, just too _much_ to ever succeed fall away, letting go of the man he loves after far, far too many years. He wants so badly to go and wrap his arms around Kurt—but some instinct holds him back. The moment is too personal, too private, for even him to share. He backs up into the bedroom and walks towards the kitchen again, being sure to make some noise and give Kurt a moment to compose himself.

The production adds dates to its run, and the audiences start to get bigger. It's not all because of Kurt, of course. _Joseph_ is a popular play, and the production really is quite good. Their Joseph (a man named Liam who is a few years older than Kurt) gets better and better with each performance. He and Kurt are crazy good, blending their voices perfectly on the numbers they have together. They get to be excellent friends, and Blaine might have wrestled with a little jealousy were the man not absolutely ramrod straight. So no, the success is not due solely to Kurt…but everyone knows he is a huge part of it.

The play gets mentioned in more publications, blogs, and websites, the novelty of Kurt's performance catching attention…and the actual performances holding it. Kurt stubbornly tries to be completely realistic—maybe even a bit pessimistic—about what this will mean for his career, but Blaine and Rachel both start to think that Kurt may be one of the impossibly lucky, lucky few who get their big break right out of the starting gate.

Privately, Blaine reflects that after all the crap Kurt went through growing up, the universe damn well _owes_ his love something like that.

Blaine doesn't attend every performance, but he tries to go to one at least every couple of weeks. He never tires of watching Kurt up on stage, watching him grow more and more confident in his abilities with every thunderous round of applause, watching him blossom and thrive under the stage lights like some rare flower that is finally getting enough sun. He loves slipping backstage at the end of a performance—theater security knows him by now—and sitting in the dressing rooms while Kurt divests himself of his costume and makeup. He loves sweeping Kurt into his arms while he's still warm and a little breathless from the show, riding the adrenaline high of performing.

And yes, there's a little part of him that revels in the envious looks some of the cast and crew members shoot him when he kisses Kurt right there in front of everyone. Blaine hasn't missed the interested glances his boyfriend gets from several of them, and he's not above admitting it's a thrill to know that this beautiful, talented man is all _his_.

_Joseph_ runs for a month—and Kurt is the busiest, most stressed-out that Blaine has ever seen him. But he's also the happiest that Blaine has ever seen him, and so Blaine patiently rides out the diva moments and the freak outs over costuming and scheduling and whether or not the little tickle in the back of Kurt's throat might be a cold coming on. He reassures Kurt that it's okay when the nights and weekends that they spend together dwindle down to almost nothing, smirking and promising Kurt that he'll have his chance to be the supportive and understanding partner when Blaine starts cramming for the bar exam. They make the time they do have together sacred, in perfect accord that their relationship is more important than anything, and they make it work.

Then one night, Kurt returns home with the same expression of dazed, nervous excitement that he was wearing the night he'd first been cast in the show. Blaine pauses by the stove, where he's in the process of reheating a pot of vegetarian chili for a very late dinner (or a very early breakfast, depending on one's point of view…on performance nights Kurt rarely gets home before one in the morning, and Blaine tries to stay up to eat with him at least a couple times a week), raising an eyebrow and waiting for Kurt to speak. He does so in a tremulous, disbelieving voice, whispering that the show's director had pulled the principle cast aside after the performance that night.

"And?" Blaine asks, pulling bowls and glasses down out of the cabinets. Kurt looks too happy for it to have been bad news, but…

"The theater's board invited a group of Broadway investors and directors to come and see our final performance on Friday…Blaine, Perry Cunningham and Gina Delacroix are going to be in the audience!" Kurt murmurs, and Blaine's eyes go wide. He knows those names from Kurt and Rachel's endless discussions of every nuance of Broadway. "David said they asked about _me_ specifically."

And Blaine doesn't have to ask what that could mean for Kurt. Every last person in the city trying to make it on Broadway would cheerfully kill to catch the attention of people like Cunningham and Delacroix. He grins, laughing aloud when Kurt finally loses his hold on his emotions and lets out a little scream of sheer delight, dancing forward and wrapping his arms around Blaine's neck.

"I can't believe this…I can't believe this is really happening," Kurt says, pressing kiss after kiss against Blaine's lips, his jaw, his neck. Blaine just holds Kurt tighter, tangling his hands in Kurt's soft hair.

"You deserve it. You deserve it, you deserve it, you're amazing and you deserve it," he says over and over, walking them backwards out of their tiny kitchen until Kurt hits the arm of the couch and tumbles over it, pulling Blaine down on top of him as their kisses turn heated and hands start to roam.

They strip each other slowly, lazily, hands and mouths tracing the places that drive them wild with the easy familiarity of long years together. They make love at the same unhurried pace, whispering words of endearment and affection. Blaine swears he can feel their hearts beating in tandem when they shudder to completion, holding each other as close as they can.


End file.
